Reciprocity
by mad-cow-mama
Summary: Quinn makes a decision. Quinn/Santana friendship. Little bit o' Faberry?


Quinn stares down the tiny green oblong tablet between her fingertips. So little. How can something so little make such a difference? She worries. It's supposed to take a month to have its full effect. So there's a month left? To what? Feel fully? Feel like shit? How will it affect her, anyway? Damp down all the feelings? Or just the sad ones? How about the angry ones? Will it kill her creativity? Or just make it impossible to concentrate long enough to sink down, down, down?

She starts outlining how she'll approach acting if she can no longer feel her way into a role. Learn the text. Learn it out loud. Mark the text for intonation, meaning. Imagine what the feeling should be, even if she can't feel it herself. Mark it all in the text. Learn the text deeper. Learn it out loud. Imagine the costume. Study the sketches. Imagine the way it feels. Is it a corset? Boots? Revealing? Frumpy? Barefoot? Long and flowing hair? Updo? Short? Glasses or no glasses? What age? What year? What region? Mark it all down. Learn it. Learn it out loud.

It's been crazy. She has to maintain her grades or she won't be able to continue in school, and this school is her golden ticket. She knows she can follow it up. It's just so cold here. Not so much in temperature, Ohio can be much colder, but the massive old stone buildings, the gates, the other students, even the way they talk. So many East Coast boarding school kids. So much money. She prays she won't have to switch majors. But if the little green pills can keep her here, she'll do whatever she needs to in order to stay here. She'll give the little green pills what they demand.

Seeing everyone at Thanksgiving was so great, it was like nothing had changed. She felt on top of the world for four days. San and Britt seemed just the same as ever. Lies. Going back, seeing Kitty's adoration, singing and dancing with friends, that was awesome. She did miss seeing Rachel, though. She did miss her. She's missed her for two months now. No, four. Five. Right, five. Five months of making herself not facebook her, making herself not email her, except once every two weeks to remind her those train passes had expiration dates. She'd been so sure she'd use them. Now… not so sure. And the little green pills must be better than crying jags on her way to rehearsals. Must be.

She'd thought her friendship would be worth it to Rachel.

Of course, Rachel has her school, her rehearsals, her… whatever. Rachel's busy, that's all. Rachel doesn't have the time. Or inclination. Maybe she's a burden to Rachel. All those emotional ups and downs have a habit of making other people uncomfortable. Well, the downs do, anyway. It's hard to maintain any kind of friendships. Maybe Rachel thought she'd been doing her a favor last year, acting like her friend, sort of. Maybe Rachel needed space. Maybe it was reciprocity to just back off. But she doesn't want to back off. Hanging with Rachel made her even out, feel stuff in a calmer way. Like she could deal. Maybe the little green pills will, too.

She gave those tickets to Rachel, but was it out of generosity? Or was it out of need? Longing? Was it selfless or selfish? She really hoped it would bring them closer together, but now… now it seems the fact of them, the fact of her having given the tickets to Rachel, is making a mess of things. That is, if Rachel even notices or remembers. Because the tickets aren't really about Rachel, and Rachel does tend only to notice what's about Rachel. But Rachel…

Quinn realizes with discomfort that Rachel is… beautiful. Her own brand of beautiful, but beautiful nonetheless. And utterly unattainable. Was that what she was trying to do with those train passes?

No. Good God, no.

So what is reciprocity? It's a two-way, selfless flow. But nothing's flowing here. Quinn perceives herself as being giving and Rachel as not, but maybe Rachel sees herself as being giving and Quinn as not. Maybe they are both waiting for the other to approach the line in between them. Maybe the train passes went over the line. Maybe what was meant as generosity seemed like an imposition. And then the avoidance.

Damn. If there's one thing Quinn's stellar at, it's fucking stuff up.

Ha, she loved Santana writing to ask her for help. As if. The last time she tried to help, Santana ignored her. And Rachel ignored her. And the other glee kids ignored her. Even Brittany has been too preoccupied to contact her. _Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea!_

Sometimes she makes the drive to overlook the ocean. It's so big and makes her feel so, so tiny. Like everything that bothers her must also be tiny. The professor and his wife are tiny. Tiny. And the checklist she makes to try to get things under control is likewise tiny. First thing on the list: first, you breathe.

Santana wrote to ask her for help. What's reciprocity? How to help without fucking stuff up? One line: First, you breathe. Hopefully that helps. That's all Quinn can manage right now, because she's trying to remember how to breathe. And she has to immerse herself in her daily activities so she won't keep trying to contact Rachel, and then keep keeping herself from contacting Rachel. It's crazy.

And this little thing, it's little. It's a really low dose, she looked it up. She marks three months from now on her calendar, a trial run. So she can learn it. And takes the little green pill.


End file.
